Edward woke with a quiet gasp, snatched abruptly from
the sensation that his mind had been insisting could be achieved if only Alphonse
would put his mouth to more creative uses.

And for the space of a moment, confused and only partially
awake, the boy was grateful for the ache between his legs, despite the fact
that the need was almost pressing enough to be painful. Because that meant that
he wouldn't have to slip from the bed to wash his pajamas, at least—wouldn't
have to dread Al's innocent response, were he to find out: "I appreciate you
doing laundry, brother—but why didn't you wait until morning?"

Stifling a groan, Ed risked a glance at the younger boy,
needing to know that his brother hadn't yet awakened.

Alphonse was lying just inches away, curled up on one
side and facing him. It made a lovely picture, with the moonlight streaming
in thick and silver under the curtains, and Edward silently cursed everything
that came to mind for the fact that there wasn't any space left to put
between them.

Because the younger boy had moved closer in his sleep—
and with the bed pressed up against the wall, there simply wasn't anyplace to
go. No distance available to put between himself and temptation.

And so Ed took a long, slow breath in—let it out. Tried
staring intently up at the ceiling.

It would only make things worse, he knew, to recall the
way the boy had looked in his dream—the smooth, pale skin, bare and tempting.
The feel of soft lips on his own. The way those fingers had felt, light and
amazing, as they slipped down over his stomach—


Clenching his flesh hand so that he could dig short nails
into his palm, Ed squeezed his eyes shut and wracked his brain for something
that he could concentrate on completely.

And when the first line of the first array sketched itself
neatly within his mind, the boy felt a surge of relief. Because this, he knew,
was something he could give his full attention to. Something that wouldn't allow
outside interference—because even mentally, Edward refused to create anything
but a perfect array.

It might have worked, had Alphonse not made a soft noise
beside the boy and shifted in his sleep.

He didn't move far, by any means. Had the brothers not
been lying so close, the younger of them would simply have rolled onto his stomach.

But the bed space he landed in was already occupied—and
so Alphonse ended with an arm sprawled out over his brother's chest, half-draped
across the smaller boy's torso.

The first few seconds were lost to Edward, paralyzed as
he was by twin spikes of terror and want. He couldn't quite stop the trembling
that raced through muscles suddenly pulled taut, couldn't silence the breathy
little whine that left his throat as the younger boy settled in.

And then his mind took a moment to point out that if Al's
leg was just a little bit further over, things would be really interesting,
and the problem was quite suddenly unbearably worse.

Wouldn't the pressure be nice, a part of him whispered,
even if it was through the fabric of his pajamas? Much better than a
few rough, hurried tugs when he could steal a moment alone—perhaps better even
than the nightly parade erotic dreams.

The boy actually cursed under his breath as he moved to
shove Alphonse away. Levered his little brother up awkwardly with the arm trapped
beneath the sleeping form and pushed, intent on rolling Al off him.

But it was an awkward angle, and the younger boy was dead
weight, and Ed had been trying with his flesh arm rather than the automail.

And so what had seemed a good idea turned out much, much
worse in execution: Edward succeeded in easing his brother up all of five centimeters
before his arm trembled under the strain of being bent the wrong way, shuddered,
and gave out.

His little brother landed back on top of him with a force
that didn't even approach gentle.

Edward took two long, slow breaths, forcing down the noise
that threatened to slip out. And then, doing his best to ignore the proximity,
he braced himself to try again.


Just one word—but it was enough to steal the breath from
his lungs and fill the pit of his stomach with icy panic. And why, the rational
part of Ed's mind demanded, why wasn't it enough to stop the slow burn
between his legs?

But rationality was warring with impulse, and the sound
of his brother's voice had spurred a strong one. He's awake and right there,
a part of the boy whispered. Do something about it.

Edward bit his lip, hard, and forced the compulsion down.

"Fuck, Al," he managed, and was proud that his voice only
shook a little. "Stay on your side of the bed, will you?"

But there was only silence in response—and why, Ed thought frantically, isn't
he going anywhere?—a period of nothing but Alphonse's eyes, filled with
an emotion he didn't recognize, watching him in the moonlight.

And then, impossibly, his brother was scooting just that
little bit nearer—so close that Ed could feel the warmth of the boy's breath
on his cheek. It was maddening. Was anguish, and he didn't think he could-

Breathe. Breathe, or think, or function, because
Alphonse was kissing him.

The boy's body reacted before his mind had managed to
pick up the scattered pieces of itself. Was leaning up into the contact with
a desperation that was frightening, moaning into his brother's mouth, all but
squirming beneath the light touch.

And then the younger boy was pulling back, sitting up,
moving away—and Edward's thoughts sorted themselves out for long enough
to realize that he didn't want that at all.

He pulled with the automail hand this time—and perhaps
there was a bit too much strength behind it, because unbalanced as Alphonse
was, not quite all the way to sitting, the tug was enough to land him sprawling.

Ed was only vaguely aware of the fact that the noise of
pleasure he made was echoed by the other boy, caught as he was in the sudden
sensation that came with having his brother's weight settled fully atop him.
Was really only distantly conscious of the fact that there was a world at all,
beyond the pressure that Al's thigh was applying to his still-clothed erection.

And then Alphonse shifted up against him, moved
experimentally, and he could feel the heat of something solid pressed to his
own leg.

Edward cried out helplessly as the friction combined with
new awareness, the dual assault threatening to overwhelm him. He rocked his
hips up with an urgency that bordered on desperation, whimpered shamelessly
to realize that he could feel the warmth of Alphonse's body even through the
fabric of their pajamas.

"Brother," Al panted softly—and the word went straight
to his groin, sparked trails of fire in its wake. "Brother."

And then those lips were on him again, clumsy and sweet
and warm, and Edward shuddered beneath them, arched, attempted to speed the
erratic pace their hips had set. But he was pinned well and truly beneath his
brother's weight, left unable to make the short, shallow thrusts into something
more satisfying.

When Alphonse broke the kiss to breathe, Ed would have
been embarrassed by the bereft noise that he made, had enough of his mind remained
coherent to realize. But all that mattered was the fact that his brother didn't
wait long to resume the contact, and then everything was washed away beneath
the rapture of teeth and tongue and lips and delicious, insufferable friction.

The boy made an unintelligible sound into his brother's
mouth, a keening sort of encouragement, and Al moved more quickly in response,
slipping a hand down to reach under his shirt and explore the skin that lay
beneath. Edward jerked at the touch, moaned unabashedly at the combination of
new pleasure and the feel of heated fabric rubbing firm and insistent up against
his erection.

"Al," he whimpered, pulling away from the kiss reluctantly.
"I—I'm not sure—ah!" Words fled in the face of the pleasure that shot
through him as a hesitant thumb found his nipple.

"It's okay, brother," Alphonse answered thickly, and repeated
the touch with more surety this time. "M-me too, I think."

And when the younger boy lowered his head to mouth wetly
at the junction between neck and shoulder, the combined sensation was quite
suddenly too much.

Ed arched up hard off the bed as he came, long seconds
spent with his back bowed and lips parted, eyes staring unfocused as tremors
wracked his frame. There was no thought—was nothing save the ecstasy that raced
along his nerves, hot enough to burn.

When at last he collapsed back against the mattress, panting,
Edward felt the rawness in his throat and wondered distantly whether he'd screamed.

"Brother," Al was saying—and only then did Edward realize
that the younger boy must have followed him over the edge. Because there was
a stunned, sated sort of look deep within those lovely bronze eyes, and Ed realized,
with a sudden jolt of longing, that it was an expression he'd like to see more

"Mm?" It wasn't much by way of response—but he felt
heavy with satisfaction, and didn't think he could manage more.

Very carefully, Alphonse shifted his weight, resettled
so that he was lying pressed up beside Edward instead of on top of him. "Do
you think," the younger boy began hopefully, "We could do that again some time?"

Ed could feel the grin creeping across his lips, didn't
bother trying to hide it in the moment before he nestled near enough to press
a light kiss against his brother's collar bone.

"You know," the boy said thoughtfully by way of reply.
"If we leave our pajamas on, there's gonna be a mess in the morning." His tongue
found the slight dip where throat met chest, and Alphonse shivered. "We ought
to take them off."

There was a pause, and then the feel of fingers reaching
to take him up on the suggestion.